Steele Moving Forward
by RSteele82
Summary: (AU Series) Takes place before-during-after Sensitive Steele. A case at the Friedlich Sensitivity Spa threatens to tear apart the fabric of Laura and Remington's personal relationship after they're forced, unwittingly and unwillingly, to confront the issues between them. The episode I am most asked to address.
1. Chapter 1

**_The Alternative Universe Series_**

 ** _Toss the Twilight Zone experience of Season 5 into the proverbial trash can. These stories pick up after Steele of Approval. While Approval still exists, more importantly these stories look at season 4 as most of the viewers saw it - Laura and Remington had crossed that line, imbuing that Season with the "Mr & Mrs Steele" feeling that most experienced. _**

**_To get the most out of my stories, I recommend reading them in the following order:_**

 **Steele Forsaken (Part 1 of 3 in the A Holt New Beginning Series)** **  
** **Steele Mending (Part 2 of 3 in the A Holt New Beginning Series)** **  
** **A Holt New Beginning (Part 3 of 3 in the A Holt New Beginning Series; Takes place during and after Steele Searching)** **  
** **Holt the Presses (Takes place during and after Steele Blushing)** **  
** **The Holt Truth (Takes place during and after Forged Steele)** **  
** **You've Gotta Know When to Holt 'Em (Takes place during Premium Steele)** **  
** **Holt the Sugar (Takes place during and after Coffee, Tea or Steele)** **  
** **Not So Merry Steele (After Dancer, Prancer, Donner and Steele)** **  
** **Snippets of Steele (Missing scenes from Steele on the Air, Steele Inc, and Steele Spawning)** **  
** **Holting Down the Fort (During Suburban Steele)** **  
** **Steele Admired (During and After Santa Claus is Coming to Steele)** **  
** **Steele Moving Forward (Sensitive Steele)  
Steele Yours (Steele at Your Service) – Coming Soon** **  
** **Her Holt Heart (Pre Beg, Borrow through the end of Season 4 [No Bonds]) - Coming Soon**

 ** _As usual, I do not own the characters. I simply borrow them._**

* * *

Chapter 1

Remington and Laura had spent a thoroughly enjoyable evening together. It had been a celebration of sorts, for after six long weeks his cast had come off, and he was fairly itching to do those things together they'd been denied because of the limitations that accompanied such an inconvenient abomination. Dinner at Casa Bianca was followed by a leisurely stroll on Venice Pier where he'd plied her with all the cotton candy she desired. After: a walk along the beach, her hand in his, talking, laughing and indulging in a bit of kissing, as the cold surf rolled over their feet. Then, once they'd returned to her loft, he'd finally had opportunity to make love to her as thoroughly as he not only preferred but she also deserved – something else denied him by that buggering cast - leaving her a feminine mass of quaking flesh by the time he'd finished. He'd barely separated their joined bodies and collapsed on his back, when she'd nuzzled her face into his chest, slipped a leg between his and fell sound asleep. He'd followed not long after, with his arms wrapped around her, a smile of accomplished content on his face, for he'd loved his woman well, and had left her fully sated.

Only to be nudged insistently awake in the middle of the night. His eyes had traveled automatically to the alarm clock stationed at her side of the bed: two-nineteen a.m. Given her struggles after her secret admirer had left her feeling both she and the sanctity of her home had been violated, he pressed up on an elbow and lay concerned eyes on her.

"What is it? Are you alright?" he asked, seeing no signs of distress on her face.

"We forgot to set the alarm," she announced. He flopped back down on his pillow and closed his eyes.

"Then set it and let's get back to sleep, hmmmm?" he suggested, even as his hands reached for her slim form to pull her back near. Instead, she slipped away, getting out of bed and crossing the room to grab her robe from the closet.

"It's Thursday night," she pointed out, gathering up his clothes from where they'd been tossed hither and yon earlier, and laying them on the bed. He rolled to his back and blinked at her, bleary eyed.

"Given the hour, it's technically Friday morning, wouldn't you say?" he asked, impressed he'd managed to put together a coherent thought, half-asleep as he was.

"Exactly. Which means today is a workday…" she hinted. It finally registered with him what she was getting at.

"You can't be serious," he protested. She crossed her arms in front of herself, her chin tipping up a notch.

"We have an agreement," she reminded him.

"Yes, yes, we do," he agreed, then qualified, "But we aren't dancing the night away, for pity's sake, we are… rather _were_ … _sleeping_ … quite contentedly I might add." She held his clothes out, obstinately refusing to bend.

"Nevertheless…"

His lips thinned, and he shook his head as he threw back the covers, then took his clothes from her hands. Without a word, he went downstairs to the bathroom, took a quick shower, dressed, then strode to the front door.

"Remington," she called quietly from where she sat on the couch behind him. He came up short, then dutifully turned around and walked over to her while she stood. He brushed a perfunctory kiss against her cheek.

"Goodnight," he clipped, then returned to the door. It slid close behind him without another word.

Laura drew in a long breath and let it out slowly.

"Night," she bade the empty room, regret threading her words. He'd made it no secret he was upset by her insistence that he leave in accordance to their agreement. But she already felt like she was walking on constantly perilous ground, losing what little control she had left – over their relationship, her own heart, the fears that threatened to swamp her and without a single hint of how he felt, what – if anything – he wanted from the future.

So little control over any of it, that she clung to what she had left, remaining steadfast to the rules they'd laid down… whether either of them liked it or not.

With a heavy sigh, she latched the door and returned to bed, where she tossed and turned until the voices of Bud and Norman said it was time for the day to begin.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

By the time Remington arrived home, it was after three and he was wide awake, due as much to his fury as the crisp night air. Locking the door behind him, he tossed his keys on the credenza and walked into the dining room where he promptly fixed himself two fingers of Scotch, neat, hoping it might aid him back to sleep. Sitting on the couch, he flicked on the television, surfing through the channels until he found a late night showing of _Sunset Boulevard_.

 _William Holden, Gloria Swanson, Paramount, 1959_ , he automatically recited to himself. _A down-and-out screenwriter is hired to write a vehicle for a former silent movie star to make her return. When their ensuing affair goes sour, it leads to murder._

He retired to his empty bed when the movie ended just before five. It was of no surprise, then, when his alarm had sounded at seven-thirty, he immediately found himself in a foul mood. No doubt, his lovely Miss Holt had awakened fresh as a daisy since _she_ hadn't found herself evicted from her warm bed in the middle of the night.

 _It would bloody well serve her right if I took the morning to get some much needed rest,_ he thought priggishly to himself. _If she's so worried about work, perhaps she should take into account that a man needs his sleep._ With that thought in mind, he slapped off the alarm, rolled to his stomach, covered his head with a pillow and went back to sleep.

Thus, when he arrived at the Agency, it was eleven-thirty and, well rested, his mood had been restored to its usual jovial state. Strolling through the doors, he paused to rap on Mildred's desk and to greet her with a charming smile.

"Morning, morning," he nodded his head towards Laura's office, "Is Miss Holt in?"

"Yeah, and she's been asking the same about _you_ for the last three hours," she informed him, pointing the pencil she had in hand at him.

"Late night," he shrugged off. "I'm sure she'll understand."

"I wouldn't count on it," she called at his back, as he sauntered towards Laura's office. He paused at her office door, to check his attire – pocket square and tie carefully matched to the dress she'd hung out the night before to be worn today – then swung open her office door and stepped inside, closing it behind him. As luck would have it, she wasn't behind her desk, but in front of the file cabinets. She looked up, then returned her attention to the files before her.

"Nice of you to join us today," she commented, drily. The corner of his mouth quirked, as he took the reprimand for what it was, not that he'd let it go unanswered.

"Night air has a way of reviving a man. Didn't get to bed until nearly dawn." Stepping to her, he slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him, his lips descending to cover hers before she was aware of his intent. Her arms flailed for a moment, her senses whirled, and she let herself be swept away by the kiss. It was only when he sought to deepen it that she remembered where they were, and she squirmed out of his embrace.

(!-) "Really, Mr. Steele," she scolded, "It's eleven-thirty in the morning!" He made a great show of checking his watch.

"Eleven-thirty-three, actually," he corrected with a lift of a brow, as he reached for her again. She held up the folder in hand at his eye level.

"What about the Chapman presentation?" she reminded him.

"Laura, please," he groused, "Spare me the 'all play and no work' litany. It's beginning to wear-"

"But this is unprofessional," she interrupted to protest. He wagged his brows at her, and drew her close again.

"Absolutely," he agreed, a sensual hum in his voice. He lowered his head… to find nothing but air when she escaped his embrace.

"You know what your problem is?" she asked, as she walked towards her desk. Absently, he wiped her lipstick from his lips, then leaned a shoulder against the filing cabinet.

"Nothing a brisk run around the block wouldn't cure." She swung around to face him, pointing the file in his direction.

"You feel compelled to dominate me physically because deep down you're intimidated by any woman with half a brain!" she accused. He sobered instantly.

"Been reading your college psychology texts again?" he drawled.

"Got you, didn't I?" she grinned.

"Ha!" he denied, but was willing to go along with this little game. "You know what your problem is? You're so bloody inhibited! God forbid you should lose control and let your honest emotions come through." She didn't find the remark amusing… in fact, she took affront to the charge, no matter how it was delivered.

"That's _ridiculous!_ " she denied.

"Prove it," he challenged.

"All right, I will!" Dropping the file she'd been holding onto her desk, she grabbed him by the lapels, and yanked him to her, pressing up on her toes and kissing him hard and deep. When he groaned deep in his throat, she withdrew her lips and looked up at him triumphantly.

"There! How's that for all work—" Her words came to a halt when the door swung open and Mildred breezed in.

"Oops!" their trusted secretary and investigator-in-training exclaimed, feigning an apologetic look that no one in the room bought for an instant. Embarrassed at once again being caught by the woman, he adjusted his tie as he turned to face her.

"Perfectly alright, Mildred," he brushed off. "Miss Holt was merely carried away for a moment." Behind him, Laura's lips thinned and she rolled her eyes heavenward.

"What is it, Mildred?" she asked.

"Oh, uh," she stumbled then regained her composure, "Guess who just walked into the office?" Laura found she wasn't particularly interested in guessing games, especially given it could be any number of people known and unknown.

"Why don't you just tell us instead?" Mildred's face lit up.

"John and Sonia Steinmetz," she breathed, clearly star struck. "You know, the husband and wife psychologists?" She looked from Remington's blank face to Laura's equally unimpressed one. "Don't you ever watch Merv Griffin?" Then it clicked.

"Oh, yes!" Laura exclaimed. "They wrote that best seller…" she snapped her fingers, "…'You Can Be Better Than Okay'."

"Bingo! Two million copies and climbing. Shall I show them in?" Laura nodded.

"Please."

Mildred left the room to direct the couple into Remington's office. Turning to Laura he gave her quizzical look.

"You can be _better_ than okay?" She gave him a quelling look, as she walked towards the door of his office.

"I'm sure there are exceptions," she retorted, leaving him watching her back, perplexed, as he followed behind. ( !)

* * *

 _ **A/N: The scene between (-!) and (**_ _ **!) comes from the original script of Sensitive Steele.**_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

After the conclusion of the Chapman presentation, Laura and Remington departed the office for their separate domiciles to pack for the weekend. Retreats at the Friedlich Sensitivity Spa only took place on the weekends, with couples checking in on Friday evening and departing on Sunday afternoon. While the Spa, and its owners, claimed they wished to heal everyone, the truth of the matter was the Spa catered to the elite, for the average Janie and Jack simply wouldn't be able to afford the exorbitant fees associated with the seminar. Thus, to ensure their cover would not be compromised, it had been decided they'd be driving the Auburn.

That hadn't been the only decree delivered by Laura. Despite the fact it was Friday, per that 'agreement' she constantly espoused, business was business. They might be sharing a room, as the case demanded, but they wouldn't be sharing a bed – or anything else for that matter – while they were on the case. Thus, the law had been laid down: their personal lives were on hiatus, until further notice, and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it.

The edict only added to his mounting frustration with this so-called 'relationship.' Is there any relationship to speak of at all, when one of the party holds all the power, controls what will and will not happen with an iron fist? There was never a conversation, no sharing of ideas, no looking for a middle ground, simply decrees of this is how it will be, not to mention all those insecurities and fears to be constantly tiptoed around. And what bloody choice did he have, he fumed. If he refused to fall in line there was every likelihood she would announce their personal relationship was clearly not working within the confines of their professional lives, and it would be for the best if they ended the former before they were in even deeper than they already were.

It was an untenable position for a man to find himself in: to be in love with a woman, to envision a future with her, but to be handcuffed at every turn. It was… demoralizing… emasculating… intolerable. And he was bloody well tiring of it all.

* * *

Laura zipped up her suitcase and hauled it down the steps, setting it next to the open front door beside her overnight bag. Remington should be arriving within a few minutes, which would allow her long enough to water her plants since she wouldn't be home the following day to do it. Filling the watering can at her kitchen sink, she allowed her mind to wander away from business to personal matters… specifically to her Mr. Steele.

He'd been utterly furious when he'd left last night and hadn't even made an attempt to hide it. She'd felt the same anger simmering beneath his surface when she'd reminded him it would be a business only weekend for them. In her mind, the downtime from 'them' might be a blessing in disguise, allowing them the time to consider what it really was they wanted from this relationship. It wasn't easy juggling their personal and professional lives, never had been. But in her mind, it was time to shake things up, because their personal relationship had been at a standstill for far too long.

Yes, this weekend might do both them and their relationship, good. To that end, she'd purchased then packed a copy of the Steinmetz's _You Can Be Better Than Okay_ in her overnight bag. It couldn't hurt to read it after all, to get the alleged experts' advice on how they might move this relationship ahead… or let it go, as hard it was to even think of the last. Besides, reading the book was technically groundwork for this case. Right?

"Ready?" Remington's voice broke into her thoughts and she spun to face him.

"Just let me put this up," she answered, indicating the watering can in her hand.

Picking up her overnight bag, he slung it over his shoulder, then picked up her suitcase. In short order, the loft was secure and they were on their way to Malibu.

* * *

The drive to the Spa had been pleasant enough. They'd tossed theories back and forth at one another, had determined what needed to be investigated relatively quickly after they arrived and had gotten to know each of the suspects, at least as well as they could from dry facts on a piece of paper. The only real hiccup which had occurred was when they'd stepped into the room they'd been assigned to for the weekend. Opulent, it was not, which is what one would expect given the fees associated with this seminar. Yet, if anything, it reminded them both of a low budget chain hotel, for even their accommodations at the Downtowner during the Shane case has far exceeded these. As for Remington, he'd looked with muted horror at the chaise and ottoman, the only option the room offered unless he wished to sleep on the floor. His eyes flicked with regret to the bed that he _should be_ – _Never mind, that, old sport. No use wishing for what will never be_ , he reminded himself. With a careless shrug of his shoulders, he dropped his suitcase on the chaise and took his shave kit into the bathroom. If nothing else, his years on the streets had made it possible for him to kip anywhere an occasion demanded.

"I'm just going to pop into town and pick us up a bite to eat…" he hesitated, then added, "…unless you'd care to join me for dinner."

"Actually, I have a bit of research I'd like to do before we dig in tomorrow, so if you wouldn't mind bringing something back, that would be wonderful." He nodded as much to himself as in answer to what she'd said. _Why would I think she might give me any other answer?_ he questioned himself silently.

"Certainly. Any preferences?" She looked up from where she was digging through her overnight bag.

"I have every confidence whatever you choose will be more than fine," she smiled. He nodded, then hesitated before picking up his keys off he dresser and leaving the room. His ever present desire for the frustrating woman commanded that he kiss Laura goodbye… but the wall between them was as high and thick as it had been a year ago, leaving him unable to do so.

Kicking off her shoes, Laura reclined on the bed, back against the headboard and opened the book authored by the Steinmetz's. If she were honest, and she was, she would admit that she'd anticipated the book would be drivel – simply another cash cow, like Spa itself. Instead, she unconsciously nodde14=h

her head from time-to-time in agreement with something she'd read, and every once and a while, she'd visually straighten, as a passage hit home.

 _Relationships evolve. We, as individuals, evolve while a part of those relationships. How you and your relationship evolve is dependent upon you and the choices you make. We'll repeat that. How you and your relationships evolve is dependent upon_ _you_ _and the choices_ _you_ _make..._

The passage evoked a "Ha!" to cross her lips. _Or choose not to make,_ she thought to herself. Isn't it what she'd been trying to get across to Remington for years: that their relationship needed to move forward, to evolve? Yes, they'd crossed that line in recent months, but he seemed perfectly content, now that they had, to remain exactly where they were. No words. No conversations about the future. After all, he'd gotten what he'd been after all these years: her in his bed. It seemed to be enough for him. She sighed aloud. But it wasn't for her.

 _Conventional wisdom suggests anger is a destructive force, and when found within the confines of an intimate relationship it should be feared, repressed. We disagree. Where does anger come from? It comes from injury. Pain, much like any piercing injury, can fester, abscess, until it eventually comes bubbling to the surface, as pus does from a wound. You need to cleanse that wound before it infects the whole of you, and by extension, your relationship. Free the anger, free the hurt. Your partner can neither defend what they are unaware of nor can they take steps to fix the harm done._

Her eyes widened at the passage, then closing the book over a finger holding her place, she took a few minutes to mull it what she'd read. The truth was, she didn't know if she had in _her_ to be that honest with him. Frankly, she was terrified she'd drive him away for good if she were. She needed to know this was more than a roll in the hay to him, that he saw a future in which she was very clearly a part. She was terrified of the answers she might discover if she were to truly let out everything that was eating at her, because words or not, future or not, she didn't know if she could end them again. Not at the risk of him leaving, and she had no doubt he would, as he had the summer before. And while he might not see her in his future, she couldn't see hers without him in it. It was exactly the position she'd vowed to never find herself in again, yet here she was.

With a sigh, she flipped back open the book.

 _The singer and song writer, Bob Marley once said: "The truth is, everyone is going to hurt you. You just got to find the ones worth suffering for." No, truer words have been uttered. When you open your heart to another person, you are allowing yourself to be vulnerable to them. It is an absolute certainty each of you will injure the other, in some way, countless times across the years. What you must ask yourself is this: Can you envision a life in which your partner is absent and still be happy? Does even the thought of their loss make your heart pound and stomach clench? If the answer to these questions is 'no,' to the first, and 'yes' to the second, then you have found someone worth suffering for._

She nodded her head slowly. _Suffering is as good a word for it as any_ , _I suppose_ , she mused. She felt as though she were constantly inching her way along a tight rope without a net beneath her and with one wrong move, she'd plummet to the ground. The only time she felt at peace these days were during her weekends with the very man who was the source of her problems. And then, when they parted, the doubts, the fears, all those uncertainties would avalanche leaving her conversely short of temper and a jangled mess of nerves. Was he worth the suffering? In her mind _and heart_ , he was, elsewise she wouldn't still be doing this dance with him. But her feet were growing weary, along with the rest of her.

Picking up the book again, she settled in to read, wondering if the Steinmetz's offered any solutions or merely food for thought.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

After dinner, Laura had returned to her book while Remington begged his leave to take a restorative walk down the beach. He didn't return until long after she'd turned in for the evening, and thus moved on catlike feet, gathering his night clothes and robe then locking himself in the bathroom for a long shower. He'd scowled under the hot water streaming over his lean frame, having seen she had no intention of relenting her stance on them sharing the bed to sleep, for the chaise was already draped in a sheet, with a pillow and blanket resting on the covered ottoman. Despite his annoyance with the lovely, stubborn woman whom seemed determined to drive him mad, after he'd completed his evening ablutions he couldn't resist crossing to the bed and pressing a featherlight kiss against the top of her head.

By the time her lilting voice pried him awake, he was in a perfectly foul mood, although he'd taken care to place a patently false smile on his face lest her curiosity be roused, in which case he'd face an onslaught of questions surrounding the topic of 'what has gotten into you.' He hadn't slept worth a damn, tossing and turning all night… and it had nothing, whatsoever, due to the accommodations he'd been assigned and everything to do with the petite young woman, currently blathering on about the case at hand. Smothering a growl, he collected his clothing and shut himself behind the bathroom door.

Thirty minutes later, they stood amidst the other couples as the weekend festivities were kicked-off: with a rousing round of hugs that put both Remington and Laura ill at ease. Thankfully, the morning gathering was only given forty-five minutes on the schedule and they made their escape after being presented with their personalized itinerary. They were walking briskly towards the gazebo to check the scene of the crime, so to speak, where a prior client had nearly been electrocuted to death.

"Oh, no," Laura groaned beside him, drawing out each word.

"What? What is it?" he asked, automatically peeking over her shoulder to see what it was that had earned such a response from her. She handed him their itinerary with a shake of her head, and a frown etching her brow. "I don't see what has you—" She jabbed a finger at the paper, as she altered her course in the direction of the pool.

"The gazebo is going to have to wait, Mr. Steele," she groused. "It seems our presence is required at our first 'session'."

"Sess—" he began to ask, then saw what she was referring to. His mood picked up considerably. "'The Art of the Intimate Touch. Location: Poolside. Instructor: Ursula.'" He gave her a crooked grin. "Really, Laura, how bad can it be?"

"You'll see," she muttered beneath her breath while wrapping her sweater tightly around herself, as they turned the corner to the pool and joined the other half dozen couples in attendance.

Glancing around at the group, Ursula clapped her hands. The attendees fell silent, their eyes holding the leggy blonde in rapt attention.

"Good morning, my name is Urusla, and I am the 'Touching and Feeling' instructor here at Friedlich Spa," she introduced herself as she began to weave in and out between the couples. She paused in front of Warren Sprigs, a socially awkward doctor from nearby Brentwood. Smiling at him, she ran her fingers along his face, over his neck, then back behind his ears. He closed his eyes at the sensation, while his wife's back straightened in irritation before she delivered an elbow into his ribs. Smiling, Ursula moved away from the couple. "If you've read – and I hope that you all have – Gerald and Sonia's book, _You Can Be Better Than Okay,_ then you know touch is the most intimate act you will ever share with your partner, because it has the ability to draw us close…" she turned to look at Warren and Delores Sprigs "… or can tear two people apart, both in its absence or misdirection." She spun on her heel as a murmur of combined agreement and doubtful guffaws swirled around her.

"For the next hour and a half, I will be reminding each of you of how vital touch is in _your_ relationship." With a clap of her hands, she indicated the building behind the crowd. "Gentleman, if you'll go the room on the left; Ladies, the one on the right. When we meet again in five minutes, you'll be wearing only one of the towels provided in the changing rooms, and gentleman, if you'd be so kind as to bring a mat back with you, I'd appreciate it." Another round of murmurs went up as the group began to disperse, several partners giving one another disbelieving looks.

As for Laura, her chin hitched up a notch as she gathered her sweater even tighter around herself.

"Told you so," she muttered, then followed the other women into their designated area.

* * *

An hour and a half later, Remington's mood had turned pitch black, and Laura's own mood hung precariously by a thread. The session had had its intended effect on them both, and as he watched all the couples but the Sprigs giddily returning to their room to satiate the fire burning beneath their skin. He shifted uncomfortably, knowing no relief would come by Laura's hand, and the towel did little to hide his body's reaction to her hands upon his bare flesh for forty-five minutes straight.

"Go get dressed," she told him in an undertone. "I'm going to have a few words with the queen of touching and feeling." _If I don't put my hands around her neck and squeeze, first,_ she thought to herself irritably. Thanks to the class, she wanted nothing more than to race Remington back to room and let him pound her into the mattress. Instead, she took a long, cleansing breath and marched up to the other woman, determined to extract whatever information she could.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

By the time Laura finished interrogating… err… speaking with the Touching and Feeling instructor, she'd mentally crossed the woman off her list of potential suspects. She arrived back at the room just as Remington was emerging, fully dressed, his hair damp, from the bathroom.

"Find out anything useful?" he inquired, as he turned towards the closet. As he'd stood under the spray of the ice cold shower, he'd vowed to turn his head fully to the case. The sooner they solved the buggering thing and got out of this place, the better, for if he had to withstand another session the likes of the one they'd just completed, he'd be driven stark raving mad. Yes. Wrap up the case and get back to Los Angeles.

"I think we can exclude Ursula from our pool of potential suspects," she answered.

"Oh?" he questioned, closing the closet door after getting his jacket out of it. "Why's that?"

"Oh, I don't know," she pondered. "She too… too… too…"

"Blonde?" he provided helpfully. She shook her head at him.

"I was going to say, too… nice," she corrected, raising her hands and dropping them, sounding stunned herself at the assessment. He swung open the door to the room.

"Shall we?" Absently, she walked through the doorway and he closed the door behind them. "Being 'nice', in my recent memory, has never been sufficient to exclude someone from being a suspect."

"Yes, but I just really don't believe she's capable of—"

"I seem to recall another tall, leggy blonde we discounted because she seemed a bit vacuous," he reminded, "With nearly lethal results." She looked at him as if he'd lost his mind.

"I never 'discounted' Felicia for a second!" she denied, vehemently.

"I'm not talking about Felicia," he corrected. "Although I imagine she'd take exception at knowing you see her as less than extremely intelligent," he added as an aside. "Millicent Fairbush," he reminded her. "I'll have her to thank for my aching legs when I get older, and she damned near cost us both our lives. Or… Or… Or…." He snapped his fingers, trying to recall the name, nodding when he found it. "…Margaret in Malta." She raised her chin a notch.

"Funny, the way I remember it, only _one of us_ spent enough time with _either_ ofthose women," she retorted, "To determine if they were 'nice' or not." He frowned at her.

"We're talking about cases, Laura, not your jealousy," he answered, drolly. "The point is, just because the woman believes the sentimental slop this place sells—"

"What's the matter with you?" she demanded to know, her voice a note higher, as they began to descend the steps at the main building.

"Come on, Laura. You can't take this tripe seriously," he challenged.

"It just so happens that last night, I read _You Can Be Better Than Okay_ ," she informs him. "And it has some _very_ good ideas in it."

"Such as?" he asked, disinterested already.

"You should read it yourself. It might improve your attitude towards relationships," she offered, slanting her eyes towards him.

"Any relationship in particular?" he asked, flippantly. Laura gave him an irritated look. "Listen, I wasn't aware that my attitude needed improvement," he added, honestly, emphasizing his words with a shrug.

Her lips had just parted to deliver her response when a shrill scream pierced the air. After a stunned pause, they raced off in search of its source.

ABCABACBCABCABCABCABCABCABCABC

Remington grimaced and resisted the urge to groan aloud in protest when Arthur Henderson passed out clipboards to each participant.

"For our first exercise," Henderson announced, "I want you to think only of your mate's most wonderful and endearing qualities. Qualities that brought you together, hopefully, with our help, for a lifetime." He clapped his hands together. "Now. I want you to write your mate a letter, listing those qualities one by one, then I want you to find a quiet and peaceful place to exchange those letters."

It was becoming rapidly apparent that despite the fact they were at the Spa on business, Laura had decided this weekend would be the perfect time to force his hand in regards to their personal relationship. And he was growing more than a little annoyed by it, truth be told. For years she'd drawn a firm line in the sand between the personal and the professional, including this very weekend. Yet, it seemed, since the guise they'd assumed for this particular case, as well as the atmosphere, suited _her_ purposes, he was once more expected to simply fall in line.

 _Why doesn't she understand this is neither the time nor place for what she's about_ , he wondered. The issues that were keeping their relationship from moving forward couldn't be fixed through these ridiculous exercises they were being subjected to. _Wouldn't be fixed_ , he added silently, until she let go of the iron grip of control she exerted over him, their relationship and she found a way past all those bloody inhibitions of hers which prevented her from acknowledging there were _two_ people in this relationship with needs, fears – not just herself. For all her purported desire for honesty between them, that little nugget of truth would lead to a fight the likes of which they hadn't had in a long, long time.

He couldn't stop the slight grimace that crossed his face, when Laura stretched out with her clipboard beside her, clearly enthused by this latest bit of fluff. He wrote down random thoughts, lest he be called out for not participating, while determining, again, he needed to get her thoughts fully focused on this case.

Laura's eyes flicked to Remington as she absently chewed the end of her pen. _Letter or list, letter… or list,_ she wondered to herself. Henderson had described the exercise in both manners, and try as she might, she couldn't imagine writing what equated to a love letter to the man beside her – the first time she'd ever done so – whilst sitting in a classroom, as part of a 'homework assignment,' so to speak. _List_ , she decided with a mental nod of her head, the scrawled across the top of the sheet…

 _Remington's finest attributes_

Those three words alone gave her pause. Had she really clearly so defined his name between their personal and professional relationships? She was surprised to discover that she had. Yes, they still bandied about 'Mr. Steele' and 'Miss Holt' after hours and on weekends, either playfully or when annoyed with one another. Yet not a single time in their more… intimate… moments, had it occurred to call him anything other than Remington. Well, except for the occasional 'big guy' she'd pull out of her pocket, which always left him flushing a bit and giving her a crooked, tickled smile. With an amused smile and quiet laugh, she put pen to paper again.

 _Intelligent  
Intuitive  
Kind  
Protective_

She snorted at the last. For a woman who constantly insisted she could take care of herself, it was almost… irritating… that particular word had come to mind. But how could she deny it? Like it or not – and there were times it most definitely fell into the not category – there was no way the man would let any harm come to her if he could prevent it. It was that trait, as much as anything else, that had allowed them to take the Agency to where they had. Murphy, as much as she loved and had enjoyed partnering with him, had been prone to steering her clear of any case with the slightest hint of danger attached to it, whereas Remington, like she, took the risk into consideration but didn't let it deter them. They were always so… confident… that whatever they faced, they'd come out of it relatively unscathed as long as they stuck together. Protective, he might be, but for the most part he respected that she needed to stand on her own two feet. The corner of her mouth tilted up at this realization, and she began writing again.

 _Quick wit  
Great sense of humor  
Optimistic  
Resilient  
Brave  
Honest_

Her pen stilled again and her brows drew together. When had she come to that determination? It seemed for most of their association it was an attribute she'd struggled to associate with him. How could she, when it seemed every time his past barreled its way into their lives, he resorted to trickery, secrets and deceit? She searched her mind, and came up with an answer that truly astounded her, for she hadn't realized: Outside of the boat fiasco, she couldn't recall the last time he'd tried to put a fast one past her in a long, long time.

 _Talented artist  
Great cook  
A gentleman  
Romantic  
Tender  
Handsome_

She took a moment to steal another look at him and marveled how, after three-and-a-half years, he still took her breath away. Oh, he'd changed as the years had passed, maturing, growing into himself, but those changes combined to make him all the more physically appealing. Still, she'd never have entrusted him with the role of Remington Steele, let alone herself, if she hadn't seen through all those layers, all those personas to the good heart that lay beneath all the subterfuge.

 _Forgiving  
Patient  
Loving  
Great kisser  
Giving lover_

Unprovoked, the memory of making love with him blazed a path through her mind, and a jolt of pure desire coursed through her blood making her entire body hum. She blew out a slow breath between pursed lips, hoping no one else in the room noticed her flushed skin. After a long night spent in the bed alone, the session this morning had left her on fire and beyond a little frustrated… with absolutely nothing she could do about it. They'd already twice broken their hard and fast rule about not mixing the personal with the professional, first in the lavatory during the Platinum Air case, then again at the Downtowner during the Shane case – and she wasn't willing to risk a third time, lest he point out the number of times they'd already tossed the rule out with the laundry. With a will of pure steel, she forced her attention back to the task at hand.

 _Wonderful hands_

Oops, that wasn't it, as now she was left recalling the feeling of those hands, touching her, caressing her…

She stifled the groan that wanted to pass her lips.

 _Great partner  
Resourceful  
Respectful_  
 _Too charming for his own good  
Loyal  
_

Her thoughts were interrupted when Henderson clapped his hands to gain everyone's attention.

"Times up," he announced. "Now, find a private place where you and your significant other can exchange your letters and be prepared to be surprised. We all tend to get mired down by the negatives, and your partner's revelations can often have… explosive… consequences." He gave the group a bawdy wink then stepped back to allow everyone to leave.

Two people couldn't have crossed the Spa's campus in a more different frame of mind than Laura and Remington. Laura fairly floated, wondering what her Mr. Steele might have come up with about her. Oh, she didn't expect poetry or sonnets, didn't even expect it to be overly effusive, but she knew to her toes that whatever it was he said would be said in a way only he could. He, on the other hand, traipsed across the grounds with a mixture of acute dread and focused determination. He had no intention of exchanging letters, engaging in these ridiculous exercises any further, and _every_ intention of wrapping up this case and leaving Oz far, far behind.

But, of course, the fates were capricious by nature and cared naught for what you desired, only for what they had in mind. By days end, not only would the case remained unsolved, but both Laura and Remington were left to wonder if their personal relationship would be able to recover at all.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Remington spent a second restless night, tossing and turning. Well before the rising sun cast its first rays over the dew coated verdant lawns of the spa, he'd taken his leave of the room and made his way down to the beach, where angry waves crashed upon the shore, exemplifying Remington's own mood with all of nature's glory.

All night, the words Laura had screamed at him in her hurt, her fury, had raged through his mind.

" _ **The only thing**_ _ **you're**_ _ **interested in, is a lot lower than the brain!"**_

" _ **You don't know the meaning of the word!"**_

He'd have perhaps escaped with only a few dings to his heart, had it not been for the last of it:

" _ **Well, go on. Get out! I was better off without you anyway!"**_

It had been his biggest fear voiced aloud: Like all those families of his childhood, she'd found what he had to offer wasn't enough, that he'd at last become an unwanted complication and she was prepared to send him on his way. Did she mean it? He shoved his hands in his pockets and shook his head as he continued to walk sightlessly forward. He simply didn't know. She'd said not, in a manner of speaking, and then had qualified it.

" _ **I didn't mean what I said. At least I didn't mean it to come out like that."**_

If he'd believed her ending them the summer prior had been gut-wrenching, he couldn't even find the words for how he felt now. He'd never imagined having your heart shredded and tossed to the winds could translate into physical pain, yet it had. A boulder had settled somewhere in the pit of his stomach; the knife in his gut continued to twist; the vise around his chest was tightening incrementally further with each passing hour; and something had wedged itself into his throat, making it bloody impossible to pull in a clean breath. It hadn't even been near to all this when he was a child, watching as yet another hoped for home disappeared from view.

He was tenaciously battling against the urge to get in the Auburn, return to LA, pack bag and baggage, then depart for parts unknown. If he left again… or was sent on his way, as the case might be… there wouldn't be a trail to follow this time 'round. For three-and-a-half years, he'd bided his time, changing nearly everything about himself in the process, in the hopes of attaining what had seemed so near only a couple days past but now appeared would always be hopelessly beyond his grasp. There came a time when a man simply had to cut his losses and figure out how to move on. The question, however, remained: Was now that time?

Walking several yards away from the waterline, he settled heavily on the sand, emitting a long, battle weary sigh as he did so.

He wasn't blameless in what had transpired between them, he acknowledged. He'd seen red the moment those words had passed her lips:

 _ **"I don't know how he expects to advance our relationship if he, uh, doesn't tell me how he feels."**_

The truth of the matter was, the lack of equality in their relationship had been leaving a sour taste in his mouth for some time now. _He_ wanted them to move forward, almost desperately at times, but was left handcuffed by her inhibitions, fears and edicts at every turn. If anything was going to progress, it had to be on her terms, _her terms_ and no one else's and she'd clearly drawn a line in sand in that single remark: she needed the words for their relationship to move ahead. Well, what about what _he_ needed. Before he'd truly given it any thought, he'd taken a shot of his own in her direction.

 _ **"My… wife… obviously has problems dealing with reality… I've been trying to advance this relationship for quite some time now."**_

Her jaw had dropped and she'd stared at him in disbelief, flabbergasted that he'd take aim at her mental capacities. He'd thrown the gauntlet, and from there things had spiraled downwards, neither of them concerned with the damage their words were inflicting on one another. It seemed every resentment they'd been holding in had slipped past their lips with ever increasing bile and venom.

 _ **"I mean, you want to talk all the time, because you're afraid to do anything else."**_

 _ **"You… you…**_ _ **you**_ _ **have complete control!"**_

 _ **"You'll never be satisfied, Laura, because you're living in the past! I'm not your father! I'm not the man who left your mother!"**_

" _ **It's you, and your bloody little inhibitions. That's what it is. I mean, what do I have to do to get through to you?!"**_

 _ **"You are the most ridiculous woman that I have ever met!"**_

Yes, he'd drawn some blood of his own, not that he'd done so consciously. Once the words had started, they'd just kept tumbling out, and in the process he'd aired many of her most secret of fears, parts of herself she didn't let allow the world at large to know about, let alone see. Yet he'd not once, _not once_ , claimed his life would be all the better without her in it.

So, what did that say about them?

It was the question he still had no answer to. The incontrovertible truth of the matter was if even the smallest part of her believed she was better off without him in her life, he'd never find a way past all her walls because she simply wouldn't allow it. He'd gone all in on the possibility of what they might have together, maybe the time had truly come for him to quit the table.

With that troubling thought in mind, he stood and walked back down the beach towards the Spa. He wouldn't abandon her on this case, but once it was over, there were decisions which would have to be made.

* * *

Laura woke before the alarm sounded, and immediately turned over to look at Remington's makeshift bed. Empty. When she'd finally fallen asleep the night before, she'd suspected she would find exactly that, as it was long his habit when she'd injured him to shut her out emotionally and put as much distance between them physically as he could. No, it wasn't his lack of presence in the room that had fear gnawing at her stomach and had kept her tense even as she slept.

It was that she couldn't recall a single instance in their association when her contrition hadn't been followed with forgiveness or when her attempts to apologize had been so coolly rebuffed.

Of course, they'd neither had such an explosive encounter before nor had acted so poorly towards one another, either.

She sat up in bed and pulled her hands through her hair. She'd hurt him, deeply. _I'm sorry_ , she apologized silently, for the countless time since he'd walked out of the room where the Latent Hostility class was held. She pressed her palms to her eyes, rocking unconsciously, still trying to figure out how things had gone so badly, so quickly. Had she wanted she and Remington to take the classes seriously, to see if they could help them find their way out of yet another relationship rut? Yes, she had. But, after watching the first couple, she'd quickly decided, _Oh, ho, not this class!_ , and had, as such, sat quietly, diligently avoiding Maxine's gaze. A glance to her left had shown Remington was wisely doing the same. Two children believing if they were quiet enough, if they were still enough, they'd be invisible to whomever it was they were trying to avoid. Too late, she realized she'd mentally chosen the wrong parody, when Maxine's eyes zeroed in on them. No, this was more like the child who never raises his hand in class, so the teacher makes it a point to call on him regularly. In the blink of an eye, they found themselves standing in the center of the room, ill at ease with both the situation and the batakas they held in hand.

Well, at Maxine's direction, she blurted out the first thing that had come to mind.

 _ **"Okay. I want to know why he has so much trouble discussing our relationship."**_

 _Of course,_ it was the first thing that had come to mind, given the argument they'd had a short time before in the gazebo. Still, once said she was smart enough to drop that bataka and attempt to resume her seat. No such luck. Maxine pulled her back front and center.

In retrospect, she understood why Remington had become angry so quickly. They were here on a case, not as Laura and Remington, yet instead of choosing some obsequious topic that might come between any couple, she'd chosen to make it personal by addressing their own relationship. As gregarious as her Mr. Steele might be he was a man not prone to public displays of affection, detested public scenes and believed private matters should be settled in exactly that, private. Their time spent in the middle of that circle of couples ran in direct contrast to each of those things.

Wearily, she climbed from bed. After selecting what she'd wear for the day, she retired to the bathroom to shower. As the warm water flowed over her, the words she'd hurled at him the day prior played over-and-over again in her mind.

" _ **The only advancement he's talking about is into the bedroom. I want more than a roll in the hay!"**_

 _ **"You're afraid of being pinned down, afraid of staying in the same**_ _ **place**_ _ **!"**_

 _ **"You feel compelled to dominate me physically because deep down, you're intimidated by any woman who has half a**_ _ **brain**_ _ **!"**_

 _ **"The only part you're interested in is a little**_ _ **lower**_ _ **than the brain!"**_

 _ **"Well, go on, get out! I was better off without you anyway!"**_

She grimaced and taking in a long pull of air, let it out slowly. She deeply regretted everything she'd said, how it had been said. Yes, she was still terrified he'd walk away. Yes, she'd begun to question if he was content to remain where they were – friends, partners, lovers – and had no interest in furthering the relationship. Dominate her physically? She had no idea where that had even come from, as her Mr. Steele had never attempted any such thing.

But it was the last she was finding it hard to forgive herself for. She hadn't meant it, at least not in the way it came out. It was true, her life had been simpler before he'd stormed into it, especially on a personal level. Easier, but so much less interesting. Yet, despite its complications, the ups-and-downs, the times he simply drove her _crazy,_ she wanted him here with her… permanently. That he might not want the same? Maybe somewhere in her mind, she'd come to believe it would be easier to watch him go if she was the one who showed him the door rather than him leaving of his own volition. Her mind might believe that, but her heart knew otherwise.

A heart that had been seriously bruised itself during that horrible altercation and its aftermath. Maybe even more so afterwards. Yes, he'd stunned her by bringing up her father as he had. She was still reeling from that, truth be told. But what made her heart clench was how far he'd removed himself from her. Had she expected it? Yes. Yet she'd also believed, as he always had before, he'd give her an opportunity to apologize, but he'd shut her out cold, refusing to so much as look at her.

What did that say about them? If he could walk away from her so easily in his mind, how long until he simply just walked away?


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

That evening, with the case solved and the need to maintain their covers no longer a consideration, Remington made arrangements to move to his own room. It had been a long day, following a night during which neither of them had slept soundly. Thus, they'd decided to postpone their return to LA until the following morning, when they were better rested. Despite the fact the tension between them had eased somewhat throughout the day as they'd gradually settled into 'partnership mode,' on a personal level, the wall between them remained impenetrable, neither of them sure where they stood with the other nor prepared to find out.

Remington made himself comfortable in his new room… or at least tried to, but soon found himself walking the beachfront again. It was late when he returned, yet the aimless exercise and cool evening air had helped him clear his mind, to find some answers. To that end, when he returned to his room, it was with pen and paper in hand. He wasn't sure if there was anything left to salvage, as far as Laura was concerned, but he had to try, for on his walk he'd tried to envision a future without her and had found it impossible to do. He was simply in far too deep.

His pen began flowing across the sheet of paper.

* * *

Laura sat on the side of the pool, dangling her feet in the water. She'd left the room they'd been assigned some time ago, after finding Remington and his belongings gone. The room had been oppressively… lonely… without his presence, and stood as a stark reminder of yet another rejection of her by him. As a punishment, other than outright leaving and never returning, there was nothing more effective as she'd be immediately swept away, in both mind and spirit, to those days after her father had abandoned them and later Wilson. She laughed a single, barking laugh, as the thought came unbidden that at least he hadn't left a white belt behind. Then, the tears had threatened and tipping her head back, she blinked her eyes while staring up at the stars, willing them away.

She had no idea how long she'd been outside when movement seen in the corner of her eye caught her attention. Turning her head, her eyes followed Remington as he crossed the lawn, then entered the portion of the building that housed the guest rooms. Although she shouldn't, she took solace in the fact that he appeared as miserable as she was – head down, hands tucked into his pockets, walking as though he carried he weight of the world on his shoulders.

Throughout the day, she'd opened her mouth several times, only to close it again, wanting to reach out to him, to try to heal the rift between them, but had found herself at a loss for words. One wrong step, one wrong move, and they could find themselves in the middle of another heated exchange. As tentative as the ties that bound them were right now, she knew they couldn't sustain another round of fury spent. So, she'd held her peace, and the longer the silence lingered, the less she found she had to say.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

After bidding their adieus to the staff, Remington invited Laura to take a walk on the beach. While never voiced, they knew they needed to resolve matters between them to some extent before returning to LA. So, ready or not, welcome or not, the time had arrived.

The silence that had pervaded their relationship the last two days continued during a long expanse of the beach, the physical distance between them a reflection of the emotional one. He was struggling to find the right words to begin, while she found she still lacked the energy to even try.

"So… where are we?" he finally asked, turning his head and looking down at her. Lifting her downcast head, she considered him at length but never spoke. "See? I'm talking, again," he pointed out, with a lift of a shoulder.

"This time I'm the one who doesn't have anything to say," she answered, with a weary smile which departed nearly as quickly as it had arrived. She cast her eyes downward again, while his eyes never left her. _You won't know unless you ask, old sport._ Somehow, he found the courage to speak the words, even whilst dreading what might come.

"Were you really better off before you met me?" Her back straightened at the question, head lifted, and a slight grimace flashed across her face. "Hmm?" She let out a long sigh and gave her head a quick shake before she answered.

"No." She looked downwards again, then with a flick of her head, stilled her feet and turned to face him. "Life was easier, though. Less interesting," she qualified, "But easier." Dropping his head, he nodded at the ground, and when he raised it again, he turned his head, directing his focus down the beach.

"Yeah. I know what you mean," he finally replied. She turned her head, her eyes following the sightless path his own were holding, waiting for the proverbial shoe to fall. "Before, I didn't know where I'd be next day… or with whom. It didn't really matter, though. I always liked it like that." Resignedly, her head fell forward, watching her foot as she toed the sand." He turned his head again, soft, sad blue eyes gazing down intently at her. "But then it all changed the day I met you." She looked at him, surprised by the words. It was his turn to watch his feet as they shuffled against the ground, feeling somewhat shy at the moment from such an admission.

"Changed for the better?" she wondered. He laughed briefly, looking down the shoreline again, the first real smile she'd seen in days gracing his face.

"Oh, I don't know," he admitted with a shake of his head. "Sometimes I've wondered about that." In agreement, her eyes not meeting his, she mouthed the word 'yes.' "But…" that intense gaze returned to her face again, "...here we are." She stared at her feet again for a couple of heartbeats, then with a nod of her head, lifted her face, her eyes meeting his.

"Yes." A ghost of a smile lifted her lips, and glimmered in her eyes, albeit it reluctantly. His eyes returned to his feet, and an index finger nervously scratched at his nose, as he tried to find the words he wanted to say. For what came next, would be the barometer of where they truly stood. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"Uh, Laura," he began, lifting his head to look at her again, even as he struggled to find the words. "I know…" he gesticulated with his hand between them, "…we both want… whatever it is we have between us… we want it to go forward," he speculated, his hand making a forward motion. She stared at her feet again, tracing one vigorously through the sand, belying her own nerves.

"I think you're right," she confirmed, her eyes never leaving her feet, while his never left _her._

"So…" She turned and began walking down the beach again, not looking at him. Shoving his hands back into his pockets, he followed along at her side.

"So how do we get there?" she wondered, wrapping her sweater more tightly around herself. He nervously cleared his throat.

"Well, words don't come easy to me. Well, at least not ones you need to hear, anyway." She turned her head away, half silently laughing, half smiling, bemused. _You don't say._

"Well, it's hard to be a man of mystery if you give all your secrets away," she answered lightly, giving him an out. An out he wasn't seeking, for a change.

"Where I come from, I learned to read people by what they did, not by what they said," he tried to explain, anxiously running his tongue over his lips. "There were too many traps in that."

"I understand." She wondered, not for the first time, how much damage one person could withstand at the hands of others and still maintain their gentle heart, as he had.

"Uh," he breathed out the word, then came to a halt and turned to face her again. "Listen… um… I took a stab at revising my letter." Her eyes widened at the announcement. Beyond those three words she yearned, she needed to hear, those could easily be labeled the last she'd expected to cross his lips. "Remember the one where I had to put down your most endearing qualities?" He removed a folded envelope from the back pocket of his jeans, giving it a final look. "Well, here it is." He handed it to her, unable to look at her when she took it, fidgeting where he stood.

She considered him at length before sliding her finger under the flap of the envelope and peeling it open, pulled her lower lip into her mouth, trying to quell the smile that seemed somehow inappropriate at the moment. But, as he was prone to doing, he'd stunned her, and imagining him sitting down somewhere, writing this for _her_ made her heart beat a little faster. She slipped the paper out of the confines of the envelope, unfolded and began to read, conscious of his eyes focused intently upon her as she did.

* * *

 _Laura –_

' _There's a magnificence in you… A magnificence that comes out of your eyes, in your voice, in the way you stand there, in the way you walk. You're lit from within…" Macaulay Connor to Tracy Lord in a Philadelphia Story (Cary Grant, Katherine Hepburn, James Stewart, MGM, 1941)._

 _Can you be surprised it was a quote from a movie that came to mind when first we met? Never could I have imagined the day I arrived in LA in pursuit of the Royal Lavulite, that my life would change in an instant, yet it did. You have beguiled me from the start._

 _You are Katharine Hepburn: Intelligent, fiery, determined, demanding, with a quick wit and rapier tongue._

 _You are Audrey Hepburn: Refined, graceful, cultivated, with a lyrical voice that caresses a man's ears and a natural, unpretentious beauty that captivates._

 _You are Myrna Loy: Headstrong and confident, prepared to take on any mystery, unafraid to go toe-to-toe with any man._

 _I once thought of you as my Ilsa: the woman whose path should never have crossed with mine, but once it had, I was unable to let go of, but over time I've come to realize I had it all wrong._

 _You are the Bacall to my Bogie, and everything that implies._

 _~ Remington_

* * *

She'd been unable to stop the smile that lit her face, or the dimple that flashed in her cheek as she'd read that last sentence. Looking up at him with eyes sparkling with unconcealed joy… and love… she went willingly when he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a tight embrace. In that second beforehand, she'd seen on his face his patented relief that they would make over this hurdle like all the ones of the past. But it was what she'd seen in his eyes that warmed her heart: that look of abiding emotion she'd been afraid in the past to identify it for what it was.

Briefly easing his grip, he reembraced her, casting his eyes upward, silently thanking providence or God that he'd found a way to pull them back from the brink of disaster. The afternoon prior, he'd seen the desolation in her lovely brown eyes, and had recognized it immediately for what it was: she'd given up the fight. Twice, she'd approached him, attempting to make amends, and twice he'd turned a cool shoulder on her attempts. There wouldn't be a third time, for Laura Holt begged no man… or woman, her pride simply wouldn't allow it.

She pressed her lips against his neck, allowing them to linger long. That one, simple action drained the remaining tension from his body. Releasing her, he kept her close with an arm around her waist, as they continued the walk they'd begun earlier.

"Well, it's a beginning anyway," he couldn't help but to note, drawing a soft laugh from her. Tugging her closer to his side, he pressed his cheek against the side of her head, as they continued their walk down the beach.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The drive back to LA was spent pleasantly enough, as they reviewed the case and discussed the various people they'd met during their time spent at the Spa. Every now and again, Laura would fall silent, staring out her window at the passing scenery. After their many years of association, he'd developed an arsenal of weapons, each designed for the varying moods of his Miss Holt. On this day, not wishing her to dwell too long on their disastrous encounter session, his hand would find hers and he'd lift it to his mouth, brushing his lips over the back of her knuckles. Inevitably, she returned from wherever she'd gone off to her in her head, giving him a quiet smile and resuming conversation.

"Where to first?" he asked as he directed the Auburn onto the off-ramp at Centinela Avenue. "The office or the loft?" Her brows furrowed and she pursed her lips in thought.

"Neither actually," she answered. He gave her a quick glance.

"Oh, have somewhere else in mind?" he queried. She nodded her head slowly.

"Actually, I do," she confirmed, then fell silent, earning a lifted brow from him.

"Uh, not to press the point, but it might be helpful to know what you have in mind, unless you'd prefer I drive about aimlessly for a spell," he advised, smiling to soften the words, lest she take them wrong.

"The Rossmore," she directed, simply. This earned a look of surprise.

"Uh, Laura, I can always unpack when I get home this eve—"

"Not to unpack," she interrupted with a shake of her head. As he continued to give her a thoroughly baffled look, she drew in a long breath and let it out a puff. "Since we didn't know when we'd have the case cleared, our schedules are empty for the day," she clarified. The line reappeared between her eyes again. "That is…" she stumbled, hearing those words from the spa again in her head, "…If you'd like…"

"To spend the afternoon with you?" he offered, helpfully. At her nod, he lifted her hand to his mouth to buss her knuckles again. "Always, without a doubt."

In short order, they'd arrived at the Rossmore. Parking the car in his assigned spot in the garage, Remington removed his suitcase and overnight bag, then followed Laura to the elevator, giving her back another lift of his brow. She'd fallen silent again after they'd agreed to head to his place, and no amount of small talk, or glancing caresses had drawn her out of it. Given it was not out of place for her to step close than back completely away, his confidence in their resolve to move ahead began to waiver. Nonetheless, he let them into his apartment, and carried his luggage to the bedroom so it wouldn't be in the way. When he stepped back into the living room, he found Laura perched on edge of the couch, rubbing her hands between her knees. _Not a good sign at all_ , he thought to himself, his own nerves beginning to percolate.

"I know it's a touch earlier than our norm, but would you like a glass of wine?" She looked up and gave him a strained smile.

"That'd be nice." He gave her a sideways glance as he walked into the kitchen. Pouring them each a glass of a decent chardonnay, he remained standing as he pressed the goblet into her hand.

"Do you really believe I need complete control?" she blurted out. Not for the first time, he damned the Spa, then for good measure, damned it again. He should have known there were matters she wouldn't be able to let go of without explanations, clarifications.

"I thought we'd put all that behind us," he pointed out, cautiously.

"Do you really believe that?" she pursued, voice strained. "Is that how you really see me?" Seeing the earnest worry on her face, he dragged a hand through his hair before pacing away several steps.

"Laura, do you think these are really waters we wish to wade into so soon?" he questioned.

"I need to know," she answered quietly.

As much as that confrontation at the Spa had put at risk all they'd struggled to build, it had also forced them to come back together in a new way. With more honesty, risking a piece of themselves with each small truth they'd shared. To attempt to sidestep her inquiry, would be to send them catapulting backwards. With a heavy sigh, he sank down onto the coffee table across from her.

"Do you honestly not know?" he posed the question.

"Would I be asking if I did?" she asked, holding up her hands then dropping them. "I thought I'd been treating you as an equal partner seeking your input on cases, bantering about decisions to be made with you, giving due weight to—"

"I wasn't speaking of professionally," he interrupted softly. She blinked hard at that.

"Then I'm even more confused! We've clearly 'crossed that line.' We take the phone off the hook after hours—"

"All true," he agreed. She fingered the stem of her wine glass nervously.

"Why do I think there's a but coming?" He pursed his lips and bobbled his head.

"But," he drew out the word, and patted the hand between held in his, "There are… certain things… I'd like to see transpire in this relationship of ours that I'm fairly certain would be met with consequences I'm unwilling to pay, if asked." Trouble by the thought, she pulled her hand from his and reached for her brow.

"Conse—" she broke off before finishing the word. She didn't need him to tell her what he believed those consequences might be, the only thing that matter was he believed there might be. She steeled herself and asked the question that was truly important. "What things are those?"

"This… between us…" he gesticulated with a hand, "Means a great deal to me." Her eyes darted back and forth across his face, as she weighed the sincerity of the admission. "It's not some… casual assignation… where a good time is had and then we say our adieus. Yet each time I'm evicted from your bed, or you choose to leave mine, that's precisely how it's made to feel." He stroked her cheek with the back of a pair of fingers to soften the words. "I happen to enjoy falling asleep of an evening with you, waking with you," he gave her a crooked grin, "As much as I do making love with you." She laughed, silently, once, but he was relieved to see her fingers drop from her brow. She drew in a deep breath and let it out.

"What else?" He stood, then moved to sit next to her on the couch, thinking the next was best said in close proximity so he'd have the opportunity to stop her should she try to bolt. A pair of bright blue eyes bore into hers.

"I think the time's come to stop hiding what we are to one another, wouldn't you agree?" Her parted lips, sudden turn of her head and the hand that reached to stroke the base of her throat belied her nervousness at the suggestion. "Not to the world at large, Laura," he drew out her name, then lay two fingers under her chin and turned her head until she faced him. "Anyone I give two damns about, excepting Mildred, knows who and what you are to me." She snorted disbelievingly at that.

"Daniel?" she challenged. He chuckled softly.

"Are you forgetting Daniel makes a living off reading his marks? The man knew exactly what you were to me when first he visited Los Angeles, even if I wasn't quite prepared to admit it to myself. Why else is it, do you think, that he relishes getting under your skin as he does? Hmmm?" She turned her head away and crinkled her nose.

"I've always chalked it up to mutual dislike," she sniffed with more than a touch of disdain, drawing another laugh from him.

"I actually think the old bugger's rather fond of you, to tell you the truth." Her head snapped to him and she made no attempt to hide her stunned disbelief.

"The _hell he is_ ," she retorted with a dry laugh. Remington held up a hand.

"Honestly," he vowed, "I believe that he is. His problem is not with you, but me, choosing to leave the life… mixed with a healthy dose of concern, I'd like to think, for what might come of me should I go all in only to come up with the losing hand." Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully on him.

"And you? Does that concern you as well?" He recalled his conversation with himself on the beach, and a corner of his mouth quirked upwards.

"Well, I'm only human..." He turned serious, and swiped at his mouth with his hand. "I've wagered all that I have on the mere possibility of what might come of this thing between us. All I can do now is hope I'm dealt the winning hand." He regarded her thoughtfully. "Can you honestly say you're not as well? Hmmmm?"

"You know I am," she nearly whispered, as she averted her eyes again. For a long minute, he waited her out, knowing she'd speak when she was ready. Her fingers continued to unconsciously stroke at the base of her throat, her brows furrowing now and again. Finally, with a short puff of air, she turned her head and looked at him. "Do you have any idea what's going to happen if we officially make our relationship known to my family? Especially _my mother?_ "

"Oh, I have a fair idea, although I suspect Laurie Beth may well give her a run of her money," he grinned.

" _And you're ready for that?_ " she asked, disbelieving. He gave his shoulders a careless shrug.

"You seem to forget I have a way with your mother," he reminded her with a playful waggle of his brows. "If only her daughter was so easy to charm." She truly smiled for the first time since they'd arrived at the Rossmore.

"Ah, but then I wouldn't have been the impossible challenge," she countered, widening her eyes, as she shifted on the couch, tucking her legs beneath her and leaning against the back. He followed, resting his shoulder against the cushion.

"Be. _Wouldn't be_ the impossible challenge," he corrected, his hand lifting a heavy fall of hair over her shoulder, before slipping behind her neck and stroking. Her eyes dropped to his lips, lingered, then she leaned in and scattered soft kisses against them. With a soft hum, he drew her closer, settling his lips over hers.

Perhaps it was the fact that for a couple who were now used to kissing daily and four days had passed since they last had or perhaps it was the first time their lips had met since they'd found some form of peace, consolation on the beach… of course, it could have been for no other reason than the quiescent need that burned beneath their skin for one another at all times - whatever the reason, the kiss soon took on a life of its own, as they tasted, explored, delved, and caressed. Eventually, Laura reclined on the couch, pulling him down over her, as her hands tugged his sweater over his head.

He gave her a bemused smile.

"I'm beginning to think you only want me for my body," he pretended to complain. Her hands grasped the tail of his t-shirt, pulling it off as well.

"Well, it is a _very nice_ body," she defended with a smile, the fingers of one hand dancing across his chest as she lightly scraped the nails of her other over his bare back from waist to neck. Goosebumps danced across his skin, and he arched into her touch.

"I can't recall a time I've ever felt so objectified," he groused, as he touched a soft trail of kisses from cheekbone to brow. "So unappreciated for my talents—"

"Oh, I assure you, I plan to fully appreciate your talents," she interrupted, tipping her head further back, to offer him better access to her neck as the hand at his back dipped beneath the waistband of jeans and briefs, to tease a taut cheek of his bum.

"My intellect dismissed out of hand," he continued as though she'd never spoken, as his lips journeyed along her jaw, "As though I were nothing more than—" She rolled her eyes heavenward and shook her head.

"Remington?" she addressed him, cutting off his soliloquy once more.

"Hmmm?" he hummed in question, as he blazed path down her neck with tongue and gentle nips of his teeth.

"Shut up and kiss me," she ordered. Lifting his head, he stared down at her, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"A perfect example of your need to con—"

" _Mr. Steele,"_ she ground out, his laughter reflected in her own brown eyes.

"Of course, Miss Holt," he agreed, dutifully, then leaned down and claimed her lips for his own.


End file.
